


Woman in a photograph

by a_different_equation



Series: A Different Equation [3]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Best Friends, Canon Queer Character, F/F, Female Friendship, Feminist Themes, Friendship/Love, Nudity, Photography, Poetic, Queer Themes, Slice of Life, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 13:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10491789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/pseuds/a_different_equation
Summary: Mac is not sure if she should look now.Or should she wait, when she can see everything.Should she even look or will she see everything?Mac is a woman who loves women. Phryne is her dearest friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Summary:
> 
> Phryne poses for Mac. She is wearing one of her extravagant dresses with lots of jewellery. With every photograph Mac takes, Phryne puts off one piece of clothing. When she is entirely nude, Phryne puts on her most cunning smile and ask, "Do you want to dance, mister?"  
> All this happens, while Mac wears her iconic tweed suit.

Phryne is still wearing her dress from her birthday party. 

The one that in bright daylight might be white, in moonlight shines silver, and now, close to dawn, in the flickering light of a dozen candles, looks otherworldly, glittery and fairylike. There are the oversized sleeves with the fur at the end that with every motion start to swing, to dance on their own, and to draw attention to the figure, hugging it tight one moment, and letting it go the next. 

It is her dress; it has her name written all over it.

 

OOOOOOOOOO

 

Phryne craves attention. She is not one to lie to herself. She does not only like to play with people, she loves it. And make no mistake: when she means playing, she means it in a sexual manner. One could make the shortcut, and Phryne would not deny it, that she loves sex. She craves sex, too. The intimacy is nice, nudity is a bonus, and skills are welcomed. Love, commitment, or sentiment is not required. Phyrne does not lie when she says that she is not a woman for marriage and matrimony. She is not alone or lonely. She has friends, a family, and her own home. She has Bert and Cedric, Mr Butler, Jane and Dot, Hugh and Jack. And she has Mac.

Mac who is in her life the longest, who is her dearest friend, who is similar to her and so different all the same. Mac who smiled today, and danced today, and who kissed her or she kissed her today. Just a fleeting touch, like the oversized sleeves of her dress, one moment there was the press of their lips, coming together, barely lingering, and then letting going and the party continued.

Phryne is an intelligent woman just like Mac is. It is not an untold love story. It is simply another adventure. A new page in their book. It is partly Mac’s desire and Phryne’s craving.

They are both modern women; nothing more, nothing less.

Therefore, Phryne poses for Mac.

 

OOOOOOOOOO

 

Phryne’s first pose is a strong woman. A woman who looks in a big mirror. A mirror that shows her dark brown hair in her iconic bob, a mirror that reflects the shiny jewellery, a mirror that paints a picture of an ageless woman in a skin-tight dress.

Mac knows that when she would come nearer she could detect some smeared make-up. When she would come even closer, Mac would find lines around her eyes because Phryne is not a young woman anymore when they both met. When Mac would be in her personal space, she could trace down the neckline of the dress, or could feel the softness of the fur herself, or could count the lashes, black and luring her in.

Instead, Mac takes the first photograph.

Their eyes meet.

Silent questions of “Do you want to see?” and a shake of the head, “No.”

The second pose is Phryne without the jewellery. Phryne removes item after item, the shiny elements from her hair, the bracelet, and the necklace. There are no words, there are no photographs, and there is only quiet breathing and the noise of Phryne getting ready for Mac’s second photograph.

It should be easy to point out the difference between the first and the second photograph. It is obvious that the jewellery is missing. Still, it is only superficial. Beyond the surface, there are the hidden desires, the ideas, the dreams, are living and breathing and dancing around, there are the images reversed. The first is polished, dressed up, strong and flawless from far, still intimidating from close-up; the second is unfinished, dressed down, a promise of intimacy, still a beautiful woman in a skin-tight dress.

There is no silent conversation this time. There is only the click of the camera. The flash light seconds before. Bright and unnatural, a short disturbance in the glooming dawn, but it is only a flicker, there and gone.

The third photograph is Phryne without the high heels.

Mac knows that without them, she is even tinier. Hours before, when they danced, Mac was taller, she always is. Without shoes, Phyrne is in one line with her breasts. Mac could lie down her head on Phryne’s shoulders. If she wants to kiss her, Mac would need to bend to her head. Mac does not want to think about breasts, positions, and kisses. She takes a third photo.

Phyrne smirks.

After all, she knows Mac best. These days, she almost knows everything about her.

The forth photograph is a woman who looks into a mirror. She might be thinking about what outfit she will pick out for the day. Alternatively, she might be wishing to stay in bed a bit longer. It is the same woman from the first, the second and the third photograph, but now is she not only without her jewellery and without her high heels; she is although without her dress. The mirror shows a beautiful woman – middle-aged, with pale skin and freckles, up closer some battle scares – in her undergarments.

Mac does not think about how they cover Phryne’s body. How they fit her in more than one way. That they are not only practical but although sensual, no, sexual. Even under the surface, Phryne dresses like a portrait of herself: exquisite, exotic, extravagant.

There is no silent conversation but there are looks because Mac is a woman who loves women and Phyrne is a woman who loves attention.

Therefore, she lets her look.

Therefore, she lets her watch the up and down of her ribcage.

Therefore, she lets her track the lines of where the clothing ends and her skin begins.

And when there is a flush recognisable on her former pale skin, and when there is a bit louder breathing from the normally so composed doctor, both women do not break the silence.

 

OOOOOOOOOO

 

Phryne is Mac’s best friend.

That has not changed when she found out that Mac loves women. It goes unsaid that she was, is and remains her longest and dearest companion. The situation though, back then, when the lover of Mac was killed and Phryne had realized far too late, what happened, had told her an important lesson: Phryne is Mac’s best friend but she does not know everything about her.

Phryne does not trust her less.

How could she not? Still, the tragedy has told her that Mac does not trust her with everything. Mac does trust her with her life, Mac does confine her, involves her, informs her about things like family planning or women’s rights, Mac called her when she needed her detective skills. Mac did not trust her with her desires, her love, and her secret life as a woman who loves women.

They have not spoken about it.

Phryne doubt that they will. Even now, with her in her undergarments, when she can feel Mac’s eyes on her skin, looking and watching and tracing, right and left, sometimes hazy like the woman who likes women, sometimes more like the trained doctor she is, Phryne is not sure if they ever will.

And Phryne is fine with it.

Actually, she prefers it that way.

She is not a woman who needs pillow talk and love declaration. She needs action, adventures, and attention, and in this moment, she gets it all. She is not interested in consequences, commitment, and conversations. She loves sex.

She is a woman who loves sex.

And Mac is a woman who loves woman.

It is not that difficult, is it?

 

OOOOOOOOOO

The fifth photograph is a nude woman.

Her name is Phryne Fisher.

She is Elizabeth MacMillan’s best friend.

 

OOOOOOOOOO

 

Phyrne Fisher is Elizabeth McMillan’s best friend.

She is a woman who knows what she wants.

And she is a woman who does not shy away from her desires.

Therefore, she asks, “Do you want to dance, mister?”

 

OOOOOOOOOO

 

When someone, anyone, would look in the bedchamber of the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher on this particular dawn, they would witness an unusual situation. Not the most unusual of all humankind, and maybe not even the most unusual for that particular woman, but still, rather queer: there are two women dancing, Miss Fisher and her best friend Mac. The former is nude; the latter is wearing her tweed suit, as she did when she last looked in a mirror in the morning.

 

The dance might be Charleston.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU for reading. Kudos and/or comments made a writer's day (or night ;))


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